


End of the Day

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, M/M, No really he is, Song fic, based loosely on the first part of end of the day, he swears, he's completely not in love with his best friend, kind of not really, louis is straight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2015-11-29
Packaged: 2018-05-03 23:12:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5310707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis Tomlinson is not in love with his best friend.<br/>Right?</p><p>Loosely based off of the first verse from End of the Day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	End of the Day

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on a roll right now, so if you have any prompts you want someone to write hit me up.  
> I hope you like this one. Let me know what you think. x

Despite what everyone says, Louis Tomlinson is not in love with his best friend. He’s not. He’s even got a girlfriend; he’s had one for the past eight months. Sure, he and Eleanor weren’t as close as he and Harry, but Harry was his best friend and had been for the past 5 years. And yes, maybe they acted a bit friendlier with one another than most friends did, but that was normal for them.  
  
There’s nothing wrong with cuddling with a friend or admiring how a friend looks or giving a friend lovebites as long as it’s all platonic, which it is. Harry knows that. Louis knows that too, which is why he has no qualms with studying Harry as he moves to go get some drinks with Zayn and Liam. He watches intently as Harry’s shirt rises up, showing a patch of skin on his stomach that glimmers in the dim lighting of the party. Louis wonders if it’s as soft as it looks, if his skin would feel as smooth as Eleanor's or would it be rougher. Harry was into pilates after all and had a fair bit of muscle, which had to count for something.  
  
Louis would have to wait for later to figure it out, for now he settles on lifting his eyes further up Harry’s body. His shirts unbuttoned enough that he can see one of his nipples. They’re sensitive, Louis knows from a thousand wrestling matches. He’d always win if he managed to pull at them, it was a move he pulled often because he liked winning not because he liked the way Harry looked sprawled out beneath him, forehead glistening with sweat and cheeks flushed. No, it was definitely not because of that.  
  
His soft curls are next, curls Louis knows better than the back of his own hand. They might just be his favorite thing about Harry. Louis remembers clearly how sensitive Harry had been we he had started growing out his hair. He remembers growing out his own to help. He remembers tying headscarves into Harry’s hair, something he missed doing now that Harry was comfortable with his long locks, not that Louis was unhappy about Harry’s happiness but he loved any excuse to wrap his hand into those curls. That was all. Nothing else.  
  
His lips were just as perfect. They were a permanent blushing pink that made it seem like he had just finished making out with someone. They were full and looked soft and Louis wondered if they were. Everything about Harry was soft, Louis had no doubt that his lips would be softer than a cloud. Not that Louis thought about that often. In fact, he hardly ever thought about pressing his lips to Harry’s. He never thought about Harry kissing every inch of him. He had a girlfriend to do that with in real life, after all, why would he waste his time imagining when he could have something real. Harry tilts his head back, his lips spreading into a wide grin as his laugh echoes across the room. Going of the faces of those around him, Harry had probably just told a very bad pun that only he had found funny. Louis feels a smile tug at his own lips, can feel fondness coursing through his veins.  
  
Green was Louis’ favorite color and it had nothing to do with Harry’s eyes. It had everything to do with the fact that when he closed his eyes that was the color he saw, when he felt lonely or sad or happy that was always the color his mind sought out. And if that color just so happened to be the exact shade of Harry’s eyes, then it was nothing more than a coincidence.  
  
Eleanor shifts next to him, her body blocking his view of Harry and he blinks for a moment as he sets his mind back to where it should be, back to Eleanor. She’s staring at him intently and he can tell she’s thinking about something serious, but outside of that her face is carefully blank. Niall jumps in between them before she has a chance to say something, breaking up the tension and bringing a smile to all of their faces. It’s easy after that to focus on Eleanor, to be with her, even if his eyes do search for Harry every once and a while; it doesn’t matter because he’s with her. If he wants to check on his friend, it doesn’t mean anything.  
  
It’s only near the end of the party that Eleanor says she wants to go outside, her tone clear that she wants him to come with her. So, he does. The wind pushes against them as they toe out to the roof, his skin producing goosebumps almost instantaneously. Eleanor walks to the far side of the roof, her eyes trained on something in the distance.  
  
It’s almost a script at that point. Louis hardly knows what he’s doing, hardly feels it. But he’s there, only a few feet behind her in a few seconds, then his lips are spilling out the words he’s sure she wants to hear. The words he’s sure he’s supposed to say. Words he doesn’t mean but the right words nonetheless.  
  
“I love you.”  
  
She gives no indication that she heard him; she doesn’t move. Her chin doesn’t budge and her shoulders stand unmoving. The wind howls around them, loud enough that he considers maybe it had swallowed his words. Then she’s sighing, not looking at him as she explains everything. It’s not long until she leaves, giving his shoulder a quick squeeze before she does and he’s unsure if he’ll see her again or if he wants to.  
  
He’s not hurt. No. He just doesn’t understand why she would think he’s in love with Harry. He isn’t of course. Harry’s just the one he always wants to talk to, whether it’s good or not. He’s the one he wants to see first thing in the morning and last thing at night. The voice that’s his favorite sound. The body that he loves to wake up and fall asleep next to. The dorky guy he loves to watch tell terrible jokes and argue with about what words are actually words in scrabble.  
  
It takes a few more hours for Louis to get it. When he’s bundled up in Harry’s arm on the couch in their home, his hands holding a steaming mug of tea that Harry had made him. A smile tugging at his lips as he watches Harry talk, laughing and asking the right questions at the right moments, even though Harry’s already told him this story three times in the last month alone. It’s only then that he realizes that he might be a little bit in love with his best friend.  
  
Maybe, Louis tells himself, at the end of the day that isn’t such a bad thing to be.


End file.
